


Flowers from the past.

by Unusuallynottall



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Sherlock has a girlfriend, but shes been there for a while so, hopefully, like out of nowhere he has one now, mystrade, secrets from his past, you're going to laugh a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:50:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unusuallynottall/pseuds/Unusuallynottall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes. Calculating. Cold. Heartless. Genius. One of his kind.<br/>There's few people who know he's not heartless.<br/>But just one who knows there's another one of his kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to read your comments, suggestions and questions.  
> I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it.  
> This story will have a peculiar format. Please read it patiently.
> 
> All the love, X.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes. Calculating. Cold. Heartless. Genius. One of his kind.  
> There's few people who know he's not heartless.  
> But, as John discovers that night, maybe there is not just one of his kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am rewritting it and editing. Please enjoy!   
> I'd love to read your comments, suggestions and questions.  
> I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it.  
> This story will have a peculiar format. Please read it patiently.
> 
> All the love, X.

Sherlock Holmes is a genius. Everyone knows that. Few people know about his eccentricities and even less know about how much of an asshole he can be sometimes.

There are two man who know him the best. One of them has been since the beginning and the other has been there since destiny crossed their paths.

Dr. Watson has been Sherlock’s best friend for a couple of years now. Invigorating years, full of adventures and intellectual challenge that allowed him to come back to life from the war. To come back to having a life.

The thing is, after he married all those adventures had to tone down a bit. He was now living with his wife and daughter. Even though he wasn’t there 24/7 anymore, he thought he knew Sherlock pretty well. So well he committed the biggest of mistakes. Thinking the detective couldn’t surprise him anymore.

 -&-

He used his own key, Sherlock insisted in him keeping it when he came back from… death. That is a strange sentence. Sherlock worthy, he thought. He went up the stairs, maybe he could convince Sherlock to go for dinner at that Italian restaurant he liked so much. He was hungry and even if he could listen to Sherlock ramble for hours he knew he couldn’t do it with an empty stomach, it required too much patience.

The lights were on and it was quiet. The door was open and he crossed it swiftly only to be frozen on the spot a moment after.

Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. But there was quite a view.

On the couch, there as a sleeping woman. Small frame, long black hair, only wearing a shirt… a purple shirt. He knew that shirt. He knew it very well.

Sherlock was nowhere to be seen and there was a half-naked woman sleeping on the couch wearing Sherlock’s shirt. Sherlock Holme’s favourite shirt.

Well, then.

Still standing on the same spot he pulled out his phone.

It ringed twice before the detective picked up.

“Sherlock” John said in a hushed voice with tints of urgency.

"John, what do I owe the honour of a call?" the detective asked. For a moment John remembered they always texted. Fuck it. This was important. She could be a serial killer obsessed with his friend. Somehow, it was nothing new.

“I… I came to visit but-“ the doctor began.

“Long not seen, John” Sherlock said suddenly behind him. Watson was startled and the detective had that stupid smirk John wanted to punch off his face.

"Jesus” he breathed as Sherlock moved into the room “Why'd you do that?" He said moving a couple of steps closer to his chair, which seemed to attract him like a magnet. Sherlock just gave him a small smile and extended his hand to greet his best friend.

Watson took it with a sigh to recover from his breath loss, and squeezed it before pulling him in for a hug.

"Now, what was so alarming you had to call me even though you were already- Oh!" he said turning around. A smug grin made an apparition between his sharp cheekbones. From over John's shoulder he could see her sound asleep on the couch.

"Maybe," Doctor Watson said still speaking in a hushed tone, "The fact that there's a naked lady on your couch!" His eyes jumped nervously between the detective and the sleeping woman, his face was turning pink. The fact that he was so uncomfortable and easy to read made Sherlock's heart swell with recognition.

"She's not naked, she has a shirt and knickers" The tall man replied ever so calmly as he advanced through the room and with an elegant and swift movement of his hand he invited his companion to take his designed seat.

John didn't move, "I didn't know you let prostitutes stay while you left for a case. That's a bit irresponsible". He said just taking a shot. Sherlock stared at him from the corner of his eye as he took his violin in his hands only to tune it. He said nothing. Oh bugger. She was actually a prostitute.

"She's trust worthy and actually-" he was interrupted by a huffed laugh and an incredulous shake of Watson's head.

"So she's a regular" he laughed out loud this time, this was amazing "Sherlock Holmes, succumbing before the flesh most primitive desire. Who would have thought that" he had a smile on his face when he finally sat on his chair. He was so content right now.

Sherlock took the bow and just as he was about to play the first note he stopped mid move and used the tip of it to stroke gently the sole of the woman's foot. Her eyes opened suddenly as she took a harsh breath in and sat up with her hair a mess in front of her face.

"Time" she muttered.

"You have twenty minutes to leave" Sherlock said and then began playing.

The woman swayed for a few moments. John saw her trying to keep her eyes open but then her body fell back onto the couch and she groaned as she tried to get up again. After multiple failed attempts she gathered the enough strength to do so, but lacked of coordination. She stumbled with the couch she was laying previously and the knocked her knee with the coffee table making her trip and almost fall. She regained balance to get out of the room eventually, bumping against the walls as she disappeared inside Holme's bedroom.

"Is she drunk?" Watson asked as he took a newspaper that was in hand reach and started reading the headings.

The question had been made without looking for a real answer and yet the detective said "No".

He was about to ask him if he was sure, how did he know, but then he remembered this was Sherlock Holmes. One cannot keep many secrets from him. He let the comment slide.

About fifteen minutes later, the girl was running out of the room with a nice black dress and small cherry red heels and lips.

"...indefinite continue progress of events in the past, present and future regarded as a whole" John heard her muttering to herself as she checked her purse before she ran out of the door and down the stairs "Later!" She shouted before closing the door with a slam.

The doctor didn't say anything, but the mysterious woman didn't seem to leave his mind. "Are you sure she's not into drugs?" He asked again as he remembered the words that left her mouth before she left.

Sherlock had started to play a sweet tune the moment she crossed the door and with his eyes still closed he said exasperated, "Time, John. It was time"

John frowned and turned his body to look at the detective more intently, "The hell is that supposed to mean? Time for what?" He asked, the frown now reaching his lips.

Sherlock sighed loudly only to morph into a groan at the end of the exhale, "The word. She was saying the definition of the word"

After a while of reading news and playing music he door opened again, only to allow Mrs. Hudson gentle and small steps to be heard.

"Wohoo" she sang just before entering the room, her eyes landed on John and they practically sparked as her cheeks were adorned with her gentle smile. "John! My dear" she said clapping her hands together and bringing them close to her heart.

Watson's frown was easily replaced with a tender smile and he got up to encounter the elderly woman halfway in an embrace. She squeezed him tight, "Oh, dear. We've missed you so much. How's Mary and the baby? When are you bringing them to visit?"

"They're splendid, thank you. Mary wants to come too, I've been thinking about next week...?" He said still standing close to her.

"Marvellous! Next week would be marvellous" she said with her cheeks tinted with pink happiness. "Oh! And you could meet Phonny as well!!" She looked at Sherlock who was still playing, "Where is she, Sherlock?"

John was confused, "Who is Phonny?" He asked “is she the prostitute?".

Mrs. Hudson gasped loudly, "Prostitute!" She exclaimed alarmed, "Sherlock!" She called the current musician, who ignored her, "Sherlock!" She called again, this time he stopped and looked at them with indifferent and bored eyes.

"Yes?" He said placing his violin again on its place.

"Did you tell John Phonny is a prostitute?" This time she was angry, Sherlock noted by the way she had stopped blinking and the vein on the left side of her forehead was raising.

He arched an eyebrow, "Why would I tell John that?" He said.

"Wait, she is not a prostitute?" John shook his head confused, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he had his eyes closed and said, "You told me-"

"No" Sherlock stated with his imperturbable voice, "You assumed she was one. I just didn't think it had any point to tell you otherwise"

"Why would you think-" The landlady was interrupted by Sherlock's phone ringing.

Sherlock answered, "Yes. Yes. John is here. See you in 20 minutes" he smiled at John.

 

"The game is on"

 

Both men walked out of the door tightening their coats around them. John's head was full of unanswered questions. When he thought about coming to visit Sherlock he was not ready to be this confused all over again, just like the first time.

"I'm pleased to see you" Sherlock said as he checked his phone. The doctor's head almost snapped because of the force he used to turn it. Did Sherlock Holmes just... Admitted he missed him, well, kind of.

"I'm happy to see you as well, Sherlock" he said as surprise still dominated his features. Sherlock smiled almost imperceptibly at his phone before pocketing it. John didn't notice the smile and they spent the rest of the ride without a word.

 

**-I just realised Watson was sitting on the living room... Tell him I apologise for my rudeness please. See you later. Don't wait for me. xx PJ-**

The text read.

 

-&-

Crosswords are great. Everyday there is a new one on the newspaper and someone, obviously, had to elaborate them to entertain the masses.

To make one that could be resolved by an average person and yet be enjoyed by intellectuals. That was a challenge. A challenge Miss Jones was paid for and enjoyed every day.

Persephone was giving the last touches to the symmetry of the crossword's design for tomorrow’s issue when she heard two sets of steps coming up the stairs after the front door was opened letting the life of the street filter inside by a moment to be cut off shortly after.

"Is that music?" She heard an unfamiliar voice ask. Doctor Watson.

Sherlock ignored him, it seemed. She smiled to herself and took a final sip from her mug when they crossed the doorframe.

"Morning" she said as she kept writing the email she was sending along the crossword. From the corner of her eye she saw John checking his watch with his eyebrows craving three lines into his forehead.

"Just past midnight" he said, "That was pretty fast". He smiled. They still had it, after all.

Sherlock was taking off his coat and scarf. Persephone got up and made her way elegantly towards the doctor.

She offered her hand to the, still, surprised man, "Persephone Jones. It's a pleasure meeting you at last"

John took her hand in his. He didn't know what to say. He was not expecting her back that fast. An idea crossed his mind, "You're not a prostitute, are you?"

She offered him a pearly smile, "Nope". Watson's eyebrows rose, "Neither are you bothered by being mistaken as one" he said making her smile widen. Where was his mouth filter tonight? He wondered. 

Before he could apologise and introduce himself properly she asked "Would you like some tea?" as she made her way to the kitchen. She was wearing the same dress she had when she left, but her makeup had been removed and her feet were bare, he noted.

"Are you his...?" He elaborated, of partially did so. He didn't know what to suggest. As she took the kettle off the flame and poured some tea into one of the two mugs she had placed on the table.

"Girlfriend" Sherlock stated from his place as he laid on the couch with his eyes still closed. Persephone froze, she placed the kettle on the table beside the empty mug.

"Oh, am I now?" She asked plainly, making the doctor smile. Sherlock was really bad with other humans. Poor girl.

"The term seems to fit with the social conception of a relationship that compels characteristics similar to ours" Sherlock let out matter of factly.

Just as John was waiting for the woman to explode or throw something at his best friend he was once again surprised by her smile.

"Oh. Alright. Sounds fair enough" She said as she poured the hot tea for the doctor, preparing it just as he liked it. Wait-

"How did you...?" He began when she handed it to him, she just winked at him. He stared at the golden liquid and then sighed. It smelled so good, so earthy. He should allow himself to relax. Taking a comforting sip and made his way to his old chair.

Persephone was now sitting on the floor, her legs crossed under her and she had her back resting against the couch where Sherlock laid motionless. Almost head to head.

He was intrigued. How were they so comfortable around each other? Sherlock hated people. Was she living here? Since when? And most importantly. Why did Sherlock consider her a girlfriend? How? Unless… unless he was using her just like the last time.

Oh, Sherlock. You bastard.

"He's right" she said pulling him out of his thoughts, "You think loudly"

"Of course I'm right. I always am" the detective scoffed only to recover his motionless state right after it.

"How long have you known each other?" He asked before taking another sip. For the first time that night he wouldn’t assume things. Or at least he wouldn’t say his assumptions out loud.

She shrugged, "Eighteen years..." She said before mumbling the end of the sentence as she paid more attention to her computer.

"Excuse me, I didn't quite-"

"Eighteen years, seven months, three weeks and four days" Sherlock said and she glanced briefly in Johns direction, almost as if she was judging his reaction.

"That's... That's a really long time" was the only thing the doctor could say.

"They’re two weeks" she said just as her attention returned to the screen. Sherlock frowned, then seemed to think about it and shrugged, "Whatever, that's not relevant".

She smirked, "Oh, isn't it? Why to remember it, then. Why not just delete it?" She teased.

John smiled. Cheeky and daring. He had started to like her, "Do you know how the mind palace works?" the doctor asked, not many people did.

She close her laptop with an easy smile, "of course" she said "We developed it together" he said casually, placing her laptop on the coffee table and taking her mug with two hands from its place on the floor.  

Watson choked on his tea. He was definitely not expecting that. She giggled and just kept drinking, Sherlock opened an eye to look at him, "Are you alright?" he asked with that smirk Watson _still_ wanted to punch off his face.

John tried to clear his throat as he gave Sherlock a dismissive wave, he coughed a couple of times before regaining his breath, "It's quite impressive, just that.", he said when he did.

"Thanks" the other two answered. John just stared at them.

"Incredible..." He muttered before his phone rang with a text from Mary.

 

**Could you buy some nappies on your way home, love? We're about to run out of them.**

Maybe it was time to go back home. And try to process all the information he got tonight.

 

"I'll be heading home. Nice meeting you, Persephone. Goodnight" he offered them both a warm smile and she smiled back.

"You can call me PJ, if you'd like to, Doctor" she said with soft eyes.

"PJ. Alright. Call me John, please. I hope I see you both soon" he said and she waved animatedly.

"It was a pleasure to meet you" she said and gave him a grin. It reached her eyes and John found he liked the sincerity behind it very much.

John made his way downstairs and out of the flat.

 

A pleasurable night, indeed.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg recieves very interesting information at work, some of it is pretty shocking and some other hits him like a truck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think. 
> 
> All the love, X.

This days you had to keep an eye open at all times. Amazing things were seen every day, as well as terrifying ones. Inspector detective Gregory Lestrade was very aware of this, and with the experience he had had with his time in the field, and even more after meeting the Holmes brothers.  

"Greg, there's a girl outside. She's just... She's just standing there outside the line. She's been there for at least thirty minutes" Donovan said to her boss as he observed Sherlock Holmes work from the door of the room the body was found in.   
Lastrade frowned and turned to look at Sally, "What is she doing?" He asked as they made their way out of the room and down the stairs.  
"I don't know. She's just standing there. I don't think she lives here, hasn't even tried to get in. She's just... Standing there", she said, “I think she’s looking for information”.   
It sounded suspicious, maybe she worked for a newspaper, or worse, a blog. If that was the case, she was doing it wrong. As she was not trying to actually get information from the people at all, perhaps she was just new to the business, Sally said it as a _girl_ , after all.   
The made it to the entrance and Donovan nooded in the girls direction and then went in another direction. Greg made his way outside and instantly spotted the girl Sally was talking about.  
Wearing a pastel flower patterned skirt that stopped just before her knees, a pair of shoes with a pearly colour and a dark blue blazer. Even if she was a bit older than he thought she would be she still didn't belong to the scene.   
"Goodnight, miss" he greeted once he was close enough. She turned to look at him with a smile.  
"Goodnight" she said enthusiastically.  
"I've heard from a workmate that you've been standing here for quite a while. Did you need anything?"  
"Oh... No, actually..." She looked a bit unsure. Too suspicious.  
"You don't live here, do you?" He asked and she shook her head, "Listen" he said getting a bit annoyed, "If you're looking for information we are not giving any. This is an open case, and I will advise you to leave. It’s past midnight and not a place for a lady to wander around"  
"I'm not wandering" she stated looking up at him with firm eyes, "I'm waiting for someone"  
"And who would that be?" he asked.   
"Sherlock Holmes" Greg stared at her. How did she even know Sherlock was here. Probably a fangirl, or more of a stalker. His frown reached his lips.  
"Listen, miss..." A loud whistle came from her pocket and with a swift movement she took it out without looking anywhere else but Lestrade's eyes, calculating almost.  
She took a quick glance at her phone and smiled just a tiny bit before giving Greg another stare and putting the device against her ear.  
"Hello, dear" she said as she looked away and played with the hem of her blazer. She laughed, "When was the last time you saw me sleeping before midnight?" She smirked, "Of course you would say that. I'm out, actually" a small pause, "No, not work. I..." She stole a quick glance in Lestrade's direction, "We were supposed to go out but... A case came up" she said to the person on the other side.  
After a long pause she smirked, "Of course he's a prat. We've always known that" she said amused, "I'm not alone though" she looked into Greg's eyes and her smirk took a malice turn, "I'm actually in the company of the one and only Greg Lestrade. He's very nice. Very committed to his work"  
Lestrade stood there speechless. Who was this woman? How did she know his name? With a subtle movement he placed his hand closer to his gun, just in case.  
"Hmm... There won’t be need for that, dear" she said to Greg. She knew, she then turned to her phone again, "Very quick thinking. I see why you like him. Very fierce too, it seems" there was a pause and then she chuckled, "He thinks I'm dangerous. He's ready to get his gun out.... Ha! I'm not THAT dangerous... Yeah, I guess he might remember" another glance, another pause, "No. I'll wait. Thanks, dear. See you" she hung up, pocketed her phone and looked at Greg again.  
"Your plus one says hi" she said simply with a sweet smile that reached her eyes.  
His hand slid away from the gun. His mouth was slack.  
"I don't- What are you talking about?" He was really confused, "Plus one?"  
Her eyebrows arched, her eyes glowed with amusement, "How many plus ones do you have?" she teased.   
He said nothing. He hasn't told anyone. They had been careful. Mycroft surely hadn't told anyone, not even his brother. How could she know? "Who are you? What do you want?" Suddenly his hand was making its way closer to his gun once again.  
"I mean no harm, of course" she said calmly, "He didn't tell me, by the way" she added, "I just guessed and well, made him spit it out"  
"How do you know each other?" He was really tense. He didn't trust her one bit. She knew way too much to be just casually passing by.  
"We met at a bookstore a few years ago" the wind blowed harshly making her hug herself and shiver, "Think we can go in? I'm kinda tired and it's getting chilly out here"  
He just stared at here without moving, without taking his hand away from the gun. She rolled her eyes, "Call him. If you're so worried about it"  
He weighted his options, and then took his phone with his free hand without taking his eyes off her.  
"Goodnight, Gregory." Mycroft soft accent greeted him from the other side.  
"You know her?" He asked directly. Mycroft chuckled.  
"I do. And you do too. Maybe you don't remember" the other man said making him sigh.  
"Do you trust her?" Greg asked only to receive an answer he was not ready for, "With my life" Mycroft said, "She's not dangerous is she?"  
"Well, as dangerous as a tiny woman like her can get... Forget I said that. At least she's not dangerous for you"  
"Have a good night" Lestrade concluded after a sigh only to hang up after hearing a good night for you too.  
"Come with me" he said and lifted the line for her to walk inside the perimeter.  
"Thank you" she offered him another smile and they walked together inside the building.  
"He said I knew you" he said, much more relaxed than outside. She just nodded silently.  
"Eh... I was part of a recent case..." She looked up at him looking for recognition on his feature. It didn't come, she looked away. "I was kidnapped and then kind of... Knocked the kidnapper out with a chair while still tied to it?"  
"Oh... Oh!" He exclaimed, "You look so different"  
"Thank you? I guess beaten up and bloody is not a very flattering look on me"  
"You... Are you close to them?" The Holmes, he meant.  
She nodded, "I wouldn't be receiving calls from Mycroft at midnight if I was not would I?" She said smirking.  
"Of course" Greg laughed at his own foolishness, "I... Am sorry for my behaviour. It's just that this times we can't trust anyone, really. Especially if they're looking for Sherlock"  
She nodded, "No problem. He's a trouble maker. Always has been"  
"I'm afraid you can't come in." He told her and she nodded.  
"Thanks for letting me in" she said and sat on a nearby chair in the corner of the hallway.  
"He said he trusted you with his life. There was not much I could think or say against that" Greg gave her a friendly smile which she returned and then he went back into the room where everything had taken place.

Persephone used her phone to continue reading the book she started that morning.  
A few minutes after that, she heard the characteristic sound of Sherlock's steps.  
"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked as he took off the latex gloves he had borrowed from the police team.  
"Goodnight, Sherlock. It's nice seeing you too. Knowing that you're fine and… not dead, for example"  
Something in Sherlock's mind clicked, "I apologise"  
She sighed, "I knew you had forgotten. I called you." Sherlock frowned and reached blindly for his phone. There were a couple of missed calls indeed.  
"There was a man who was late to his date on the table beside me. He said the street was closed because something had happened. I figure you might be here" she said after getting up and fixing her skirt.  
"You are angry" Sherlock stated.  
"I am" she answered and offered him her hand, "And very hungry. Take me for some pizza, will you?"  
Lestrade was standing behind Sherlock. She seemed extremely calm to be angry. "You stood her up to come here?" He asked and saw Sherlock shoulders stiff, "Wait. You stood her up? You had a date?"  
"It was an interesting case" He said and got a shocked expression from Greg.  
"Are you dating?" No one could blame him, he was quite shocked. Sherlock nodded.  
"You are a prick" he told him and heard her giggle.  
Sherlock turned to her, "I am not a prick" he said and to Greg's surprise he cached a tiny tint of hurt on his voice and features.  
She smiled sweetly at him, "No, just harsh and oblivious to other's feelings, also a bit irresponsible" she said and squeezed his arm gently.  
"Not to your feelings" he stated and her eyes literally glowed with happiness.  
"That's a very nice thing to say" she told him and intertwined their fingers, "Let's go" she turned to Lestrade "Thank you for letting me in, Greg" she offered him her free hand and they shook them.  
He nodded.  
He would phone Mycroft to talk about this.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interesting case takes place.  
> It brings with it something Sherlock genuinely was not expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You liking it so far? please let me know.  
> This is also in Wattpad if you want to check it out ;) http://w.tt/22SCubd
> 
> All the love, X.

Two months before~~

It had been raining for eight hours straight. Almost as if the fortune was laughing at them.   
Panic arose in London, or in those who happened to be putting attention on their surroundings and think a little further than... To think at all.   
It had been a week since the first kidnapping, a teacher, disappeared on plain sight in the middle of the day, in the middle of a crowded place. And really, that was what worried the most, in front of a bank, the cameras have him walking on the pavement and then turning a corner he's not there anymore, but a black van is and the teacher is now inside it.   
Three days after the police received the call and begun to investigate, a female yogi is taken from a park. The scene recorded by a camera in the window of a tech shop across the street. Panic begins as soon as the news spread. This is not an isolated event.   
Finally, from the camera of a tourist, theres a woman walking in front of a perfect view for the photographer of the Big Ben and Westminster Palace. The coffee cup she had in her hand now splattered on the asphalt. No one seems to notice but him, two minutes after his final shot. Five after she was taken.   
Of course kidnappings are there all the time, the thing about those is that no demands were done. No one got a call from the kidnapper. This person was doing it for fun. Taking people away on plain sight, in the middle of crowded places right under the sun shining at noon. No patterns either.   
Everyone was freaking out. No one knew what to do. Except for one man : Greg Lestrade, he knew who to call.

Sherlock Holmes was Scotland Yard's final recurse, always being called when cases couldn't be solved. It was a game for him, and specially this one he seemed to enjoy. A real mystery.   
Two days had "The game been on" and they already had a location, a suspect and soon they would have a guilty man confronting justice.   
This time though, he didn't acompany the justice, he had an important event to assist, an event he couldn't turn down. The thing is that no one ever had been able to say no to Violet Holmes.   
The theatre. He had to attend to the theatre with his brother and parents, who happened to be in the city for a couple of days. This time it was The phantom of the opera and he coursed the day his parents discovered they liked musicals.   
So he didn't go to the arrest, but got a text from Lestrade in the middle of the second act.

-Got him. Everyone's fine. Thank you for your help. I'd like to show you something interesting about the arrest. Come tomorrow if you want to. GL-

That didn't happen very often, Lestrade knew how ordinary he found the world around him and if he though this might interesting it will probably be worth his time.   
"Texting about work in a play, little brother? Don't you have any manners?" Mycroft Holmes whispered teasingly right in his ear. Just for his own enjoyment, Mummy didn't have to know.   
"At least I have people to text me" he said with an arched eyebrow and the older brother chuckled quietly before tuning back to the play. He actually liked this one.

Morning came and the Holmes were already on their way back home when Sherlock entered Lestrade's office without knocking, as per usual. Two man stood on either side of the DI who smiled at Sherlock.  
"Perfect timing. I was about to show these two" he said and one of them went to stand beside his workmate to leave Lestrade's right side for the detective.   
"He wasn't aiming for money or anything. After he was "done", he said, with the victims he would send the recording to Sargent Clark as a revenge. Would say this was his fault, he actually said it had been his fault but if we hadn't arrived there probably be corpses in the morgue instead of people in the hospital". He the proceeded to play the video in the computer.   
A hand was fixing the focus, everything was dark but a single light besides the camera. It illuminated half of the man's grinning face. He steps aside to do something, assembling some kind of metal device Sherlock conclude's. Behind him are three people sitting on metal chairs, with their hand's tied to the metal bars behind their backs. Their faces are dark, the light doesn't reach them, but the detective thinks they probably had been beaten unconscious.  
Just as the man turn's back to the camera to grin darkly and shake his weapon of choice a screech is heard.  
It's almost too fast. Too many things happening at the same time.   
The middle chair moves back a bit, the person sitting in it places their feet on the floor and with a guttural groan and a loud popping sound their arms are turning from the back of their torso and over their head taking the metal chair with them. The chair seat hits the man directly on the head and he falls to the floor.   
The chair hits the floor along with the person's knees, their head is hung and their breathing is harsh. Both arms fall aimlessly on their sides and now that the light is on them you can see their humerus protruding on their shoulders' skin.   
A woman. Dark hair covering her face reaching her jaw. There's drops of dry blood right over her sternum. From her nose, the day before she was punched.  
A couple of moments pass and nothing happens. The other two are awake, they looked up when the commotion took place but none of them moves.   
She breaths a little more regularly now. After a few deeper breaths she moves her arms back in a violent move that tears a scream from her throat, it turns into a whimper and then sobs are heard, they're synchronised with the shaking of her body. Ten breaths after, Sherlock counted, she starts moving again. She's checking the man's pockets, on the breast one she finds some keys and uses them to free her hands. Takes the chair she was sitting on and places the legs on either side of the man's neck and under his armpits. He will get up, the detective thinks, she then moves out of sight only to reappear with a heavy metal box, presumably containing the kidnapper's utensils and places it on top of the chair with a huff. Smart girl. She places what is in reach on top, Sherlock knows she knows what she's doing, the things wont fall as easily if he wakes up and tries to move.   
She goes to the other two and frees them.   
"We have to get out of here" she says, "C'mon, help him stand" she tells the other woman, she's crying.   
Sherlock freezes. It can't be. That voice. No.   
She takes the man's other arm and they help him stand, his ankle seems broken.   
For a brief moment the light reaches her face. A fraction of a second. But it is enough.   
"We found them half way out of the building. She saved their lives. I had never seen someone do that, let alone put the junctions back in place by their own. It was just..."   
"Impressive" one of the police man said and the other two nodded, but not Sherlock.   
"They're now at St. Patrick's hospital. No major injuries, the man had a fractured ankle but he'll be fine. Nothing more than some cuts and bruises" Lestrade told them and before he knew it Sherlock was already leaving.   
None of them thought much about it, he was like that sometimes. Greg smiled to himself, he surely found it interesting enough to watch the whole video but not enough to stay and talk about it after.

-&-


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds a friend. One he thought lost forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise. My internet connection has been a bit crappy for the past few days and this one didn't get posted. Please read and enjoy. 
> 
> All the love, X

"Persephone Jones" he said to the receptionist. His breathing was irregular and his curly raven hair resembled the bird's nest.

The woman behind the computer looked at him over her glasses, "Excuse me?" she said with a monotone voice making Sherlock want to slam her stupid face against the table.

"I've been told Persephone Jones was brought here. I want to see her" he told her as he looked inside his coat pocket to get his wallet.

"We all want things don't we, young man?" she said and typed a few things on the computer with a sigh, "I'm going to need-"

Sherlock was already handing her his ID, and she just stared at him, "I really would appreciate if you could fasten this procedure" he told said.

She then gave him a sly smile, "Girlfriend, then" she commented as she typed some more and then read, "Fifth floor. Room three three one"

Sherlock as off as soon as the last word left her lips, he fastened his ID into his breast pocket and ran through the hallway.

Lift. No, too slow. Stairs to the right. No, personal used it, too many people. Right hallway, emergency stairs. Perfect.

He took the right turn and then opened the door for the stairs taking two at the time. Fifth floor, door on the left.

The bright lightning of the hallway met Sherlock's eyes without even making him blink. He walked swiftly trough the people, chairs and plants. His coat was unbuttoned and it floated full of a natural grace behind him.

331 read the numbers painted on the grey door. Sherlock stopped to take a breath and laced his hand on the knob, turning it before he could think twice about it.

He opened the door cautiously, soundless. The TV was on, the volume down. It smelled like sanitizer and there was the constant beeping of the heart monitor.

A bed in the middle, her hair fell on the pillow and her shoulders, it was clean now. Her lip had a cut on the left side, the criminal was right handed, Sherlock couldn't help to observe. Right under it a huge bruise covered her jaw. Her nose didn't have a bandage there, the blood on her sternum from the video, it was from her lip.

_You also do it when you're nervous. Stop._

_It keeps my mind on focus._

His hands had a minimal tremor. He closed his fists. She was sleeping. Her eyes were closed, right one with a bruise lighter than the one on her jaw, she was hit there first.

Her frame was so small. Tiny on the hospital bed. She looked so frail. She had never looked so frail.

Sherlock felt a tugging on his cardias. His cardias had always been her place in his body. The one where he felt her. The one where he made him feel.

He stood beside her. Just staring at her. She was here.

He didn't know how long he had been standing there. He didn't care. And then she was awake.

Her eyes opened slowly and took her surroundings in, she remembered where she was and then calmly closed them again. Then Sherlock saw her nostrils flare slightly. She knew. Her breathing stopped for a few beats and then her eyes opened again.

Dark brown, big orbs, long lashes, directly on him. Neither of them said anything. She used her pointer finger to press a button on the controller she held on her hand and the bed moved to sit her up.

She rested her hands on her lap and stared up at him. Her eyes gave the tiniest of the twitches. No glasses, no contacts either, she hasn't had surgery. She couldn't see him. But she knew.

They stared at each other for a few moments and then her eyes started to fill up with tears. Sherlock didn't know what to do so he sat down on the edge of the bed and circled her small frame with his arms.

She was not crying, her breathing was steady and his shoulder was dry.

He just held her. Her body was warm (You're always hot. I don't understand.) , and she was smaller than he remembered. Impossible, he just grew taller.

"I need a roommate" he said after forty minutes of silence.

"Alright", she muttered against his coat. He closed his eyes and tightened his embrace.

She had never been a woman of few words. Endlessly speaking. The only person he never asked to shut up. But they hadn't said anything at all since those five words the day before. She ate her dinner and then slept through the night he sat on a chair on the right side of the bed and saw her do it.

The next day she was told she was ready to leave and that she should change. Sherlock and Persephone stared at each other once the nurse left. There were no clothes for her to change. Sherlock looked around the room and spotted her dirty sneakers in the corner. He looked at her again and then began taking off his coat.

She nodded to herself and went to put on her shoes and when she was done Sherlock was in front of her handing her his coat. She put it on and it reached her ankles making them both smile. Sherlock checked them both out and he recovered his ID along with medicine she signed to get.

She walked normally, her arms tight around herself. Sherlock was not sure if it was to keep the coat around her of because she was cold. He placed his hand on her shoulder as they kept walking, she tensed at the touch but didn't stop him or her walking.

They made it out of the building and the cold winter wing hit them both. She closed her eyes and shuffled closer to the detective who slid his hand down to her arm and held her closerand used the other to stop a cab.

"221B Baker Street" Sherlock told the cabbie who nodded and reincorporated into the traffic. They didn't speak, but Sherlock didn't let go of her arm and she limited herself to bury her nose into his shoulder.

_I like your smell._

_Why are you smelling me?_

_Smell is important, Sherlock. Smell is unique._

_What can you deduce from it?_

_I'm not looking for anything, I just want to remember it._

She was smelling him and he knew, he pressed his nose into her hair. Cheap soap from the hospital pillow, sanitizer, and at the very bottom of the essence there was her.

"We're here" the cabbie said with a friendly tone. Sherlock paid for the trip and held the door open for Persephone to get off the vehicle.

Mrs. Hudson wasn't home, they made their way upstairs and she stopped in the middle of the room.

He walked to the bathroom and she followed soundlessly.

You don't make any sound when you walk.

Have you been listening on propose?

Of course.

"Right is hot" he said and left her on her own closing the door behind him.

He heard his coat hit the floor and the curtain sliding closed before he made his way into his bedroom. 

Bottom drawer in the right, a package of new underwear he got from his mother as part of a "house warming pack" once he moved into Baker Street he never used. Third shirt from the left at the almost unreachable corner of his closet, a white v neck he only used if convenient for a costume, which had been three times over the last four years.

He retrieved the clothing and made his way back to the bathroom. He knocked twice with his middle knuckle before opening the door.

"I could scream really loudly and accuse you of sexual harassment, you know?" she said, she was washing her hair, Sherlock smelled his shampoo and heard the distinct sound of the foam forming.

"You won't" he simply stated and placed the clothes on the sink. He went to the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove.

The last time he ate was exactly 54 hour ago, for Persephone it had been six; she was most likely hungry.

Two ham sandwiches and a couple of served tea mugs she made her way into the kitchen wearing the borrowed clothes. The shirt almost reached her knees and the underwear couldn't be seen.

He pulled out a chair for her to sit, she took it and he sat right in front of her. He handed her a mug and saw her wrinkle her nose.

_Why are british people so obsessed with tea? It isn't even that good._

_Don't let Mycroft hear you say that._

They ate in silence, Sherlock looked at her the whole time. Shamelessly staring. She stole furtive glances, ignored the fact that his eyes cut like ice. When the food and drinks were gone she stared at her empty mug for a few minutes.

"I... I don't hate you, Sherlock" she said quietly to the mug and heard the detective's breathe stop.

_I had never met someone so selfish. I hope I don't, ever again. I hate you. I don't want to hear from you in my life and you better not look for me._

Sherlock breathed again after a couple of minutes and his eyes found hers. He said nothing. His face was expressionless.

She sighed and got up taking the used plates and mugs with her. She washed them in the sink silently and Sherlock didn't move either. His mind was running. She knew that face. He was in his mind palace and well, she was not going to disturb him.

Two hours after, the door of Sherlock's room opened silently. He walked soundlessly around the bed and then he laid on the left side of it, on the left side of Persephone. He covered his body with the blanket and laying on his back he closed his eyes.

"I apologize for waking you up" he said and heard the rustling of the sheets and felt a warm pressure on his shoulder.

"I don't mind" after a brief silence she asked, "why didn't you delete me?" Sherlock didn't open his eyes. She knew, that made him smile, she always knew how to read him.

"Why didn't you delete me?" he replied, "I am aware the emotional pain that I inflicted to you was..."

"You were a happy memory too, lots of them. I did not want to lose you too, even though I already had in the present... I felt so alone but... the past was still there for me" she said, her breathe warm against his arm.

"I share the sentiment" he stated and then he felt her giggle.

"It's nice to be able to hear your bloody posh accent" she said and after a few moments he knew she was asleep so he allowed himself to rest.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Persephone is abducted again. This time is someone much more friendly, though.  
> Here, have some Mystrade fluff.
> 
> Please read chapter 3 again, there's been a mistake. Sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 was not the real one. please read it again? It's an important parto of the story and you'll know where does Persephone comes from, at least in the inmediate past. It will make more sense 
> 
> Sorry and thank you so much for reading  
> All the love , X

“Phonny” Sherlock called from his stool in the kitchen without looking up from the microscope.  
“Yes?” she answered from the couch where she was reading a Neuroscience book.  
“We need vinegar and whiskey” He said focusing the object.  
“Do we, really?” She asked sarcastically with her left eyebrow up. Not looking up either.  
“Yes. We-“Sherlock was ready to present multiple arguments to support him when he was interrupted.  
“We also need milk, fruit and maybe some chocolate” She said closing the book and fixing her glasses on her nose. “You sure that’s all you’re gonna need?” she was already putting a hoodie on.  
“Yes” Sherlock said and then she had left.  
She had been Sherlock’s flatmate for two days now, her things already in what used to be John’s room. The trip to the store was short and she walked there in no time. Efficiently retrieving the items from the shelves and paying for them in less than fifteen minutes from leaving she was already making her way back.  
The moment she stepped out of the automatic doors she knew she was not going back, not for now at least.  
With the engine still going, there was a black elegant car with an equally elegant woman standing on the side of it typing on her phone. She looked up and smiled at Persephone. She didn’t smile back. She knew the woman was there to take her somewhere, to someone. Someone who wanted discretion but also knew where to find her, and obviously didn’t want to let Sherlock know, they knew him.  
“He wants you to know you won’t be abducted again. He wants to talk” the woman said opening the door for her.  
So it was a HE, and he wanted to talk. About what? It was not about her job, nothing interesting there. She didn’t know important people, or well, she did but she wasn’t going to be of much help if they wanted some kind of information.  
Oh.  
This was about Sherlock.  
Her grip on the groceries bag tightened. There was no point in running, he knew where to find her and how to avoid Sherlock. He also knew about the kidnapping. How.  
She made her mind and nodded to the woman, got inside of the expensive car and got as comfortable as the stressful situation allowed her.  
Seventeen minutes of looking out of the window and memorizing the route after, the car stopped and the woman looked at her instead of the phone as she did during the whole car ride. She just nodded on the car door’s direction and Persephone sighed. Better get done with this already.  
She left the groceries in the car. No point in taking them with her. If she was not going back to the car she wouldn’t be able to run with the bag in her arms. If she was coming back the groceries would still be there.  
Her boots made no sound against the cement floor of the warehouse they were now. She saw a chair in the middle of the room. She was supposed to take it so she made her way towards it.  
The only light in there was coming from the car and she could see a figure hiding in the shadows.  
Tall. Standing with confidence, almost arrogance. Leaning against something… a brolly?  
She sat down on the chair and waited. The man didn’t move. She narrowed her eyes and then it hit her.  
Aftershave. Expensive cologne and shampoo. An elegant tint of cigarettes and a tiny one of wood. Her eyes sparkled with recognition. She smiled smugly and crossed right her leg on top of the other as she relaxed against the chair.  
“I swear you are both so bloody dramatic” she said amused to the man still in the shadows. A chuckle was heard right before “What can I say, my dear? It’s written the Holmes’ genetic code”  
She was smiling now, getting up from the chair just as the man showed his face. Both of them gave each other fond smiles before coming closer and hugging tightly.  
“I hope I didn’t put you in much distress, Phonny dear. I apologise if it happens to be the case” she said to her with his hand on top of her shoulder squeezing gently.  
She shook her head gently, her smile still present, “it’s alright, Croft. I would have preferred a phone call, though” considering recent events, she thought. Mycroft nodded knowingly and offered another apologetic smile.  
“What a sight for sore eyes you are, Phonny dear” he caressed her cheek, a familiar gesture, “You’ve grown to be the beautiful woman I always knew you would be”. The I missed you left unspoken.  
“Look who’s talking” she said, “the man who became the british government at the age others were barely steading their feet after university. And looking not less than a worthy representation of the title”  
_Since you refuse to tell us what place you have now I’m guessing is too important to be shared. You surely are the british government yourself._  
Mycroft smiled again at the memory, “That is not a title and you know it” she shrugged.  
“So, that beauty that abducted me finally achieved the unachievable?” the smugness was back on her features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about” Mycroft said with his poker face on. She knew better though.  
He had been careful. He knew how to conceal the imprints of a lustful night. He was very good at it. No one has ever noticed the marks Gregory insisted on leaving upon his pulse point. Not even Anthea who spent every waking hour working right by his side.  
“Next time you use powder place the container on top of something that is not your left hand” she said rolling her eyes, “You’re right handed and there are traces of a powder on your lrft sleeve that is suspiciously the same skin colour of your neck. Every time you gather the powder on the brush a bit falls on the inside of your wrists and then stains the border of your sleeve though the day”.  
Mycroft shook his head, “Not even Sherlock had noticed. Not even me” she shrugged again, a cocky smile on her face, “Guess I’m just better than both of you, huh? Take me for dinner and tell me about this lover of yours?”  
“And about the years you’ve been gone” Mycroft said as he placed his hand gently on Persephone’s middle back, “You don’t know?” she asks, genuinely surprised. He shook his head no with a serious face, “When you asked Sherlock not to look for you I guessed you wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want to force it” he explained, “Thank you” she said sincerely, “thank you, Mycroft”.  
He nodded earnestly, “Nothing to thank for, Phonny dear” he gave her one last smile before opening the car door for her.  
Mycroft asked the driver to take them to a restaurant, he didn’t tell him the name so Persephone guessed he was a regular. Anthea was on her phone and Phonny listened intently to Mycroft talking about the weather. He had always genuinely enjoyed talking about the weather.  
The door was opened by the driver, after getting off the vehicle Mycroft help Persephone out. With his umbrella in one hand and the other resting gently on her back he made his way to a table that was reserved for them.  
They talked comfortably, reminiscing those sweet memories of almost twenty years ago; Persephone told him how after her grandmother had died she moved to her hometown to take a break from life, and that after Sherlock was really deep into drugs they fought through the phone and letters, resulting on she telling him to fuck off and neither of them hearing from the other until now.  
“Are you working here now?” he asked politely before taking another bite from his cordon blue. She nodded, “Don’t pretend you don’t know everything about me now, Croft” she smiled through her wine.  
“I was just trying to be polite, miss” he said, “Gregory always tells me I should let people actually speak while having a conversation”  
“Hmm” she placed her glass on the table, “Gregory, huh? Is a lad, then” Mycroft could feel the blush already warming his cheeks, something he just allowed to see to his mother, Gregory and, well, her.  
He nodded finding his salad oddly interesting, “Is he from work?” she asked and he shook his head, he was not used talking about Gregory, to anyone.  
“He’s a Detective Inspector from Scotland Yard. I met him because Sherlock works with him and well…”  
“You investigated him and then fell irremediably in love with him without even knowing him?” she offered with a playful look on her face.  
Mycroft huffed, “I am not a teenage girl, miss Jones” she held his gaze and he sighed, “I then fell irremediably in love with him after the third date”  
She cackled throwing her head back, like she always had, so loud she earned looks from other costumers, not that she ever had cared about being loud. At first, when she met her, Mistress Holmes was very bothered by it, a lady shouldn’t be so… what was the word she used? Irreverent, if Mycroft recalled correctly. She later warmed up at the idea of Sherlock having a real friend and to the girl herself.  
“Third date?” she said incredulously, “he must be an actual Charming prince if you, first, took him out on a date, and second, arranged another two dates”  
“What can I say? He is” he said fondly, she saw the way his eyes softened and her own heart ached.  
“My young Mycroft finally found his plus one” she faked to wipe tears from her eyes, truth to be told, there were tears trying to come out.  
_So… do you have any plus ones?_  
_Any plus ones? That sentence does now make sense at all, Phonny dear._  
_Well, a plus one, then._  
_I do not, no one has ever lived up to my standards yet._  
_Mycroft, I don’t think anyone that lives to your expectations has been born yet_  
_I can wait_  
_And if it takes fifty years?_  
_As long as they’re perfect, I don’t mind waiting._  
“So… he’s perfect, then?” she asked once they were walking out for the restaurant and to the car.  
“Yes. He is” Mycroft stated with a satisfied smile on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Sherlock finds someone quite interesting.

It was late. Persephone didn't know the time exactly, but it didn't really matter. She made her way through the door of the 221B of Baker Street after kissing Mycroft's cheek and waving Anthea goodbye. 

Sherlock was playing the violin as he looked outside the window with a stoic look on his face. 

"What did he want?" He muttered, only loud enough for her to catch. 

"Hello, dear." She told him before opening the refrigerator's door and placing the groceries inside, those that needed to be cold had been out for too long in the car as she had dinner with Mycroft. She hoped the milk was still good. 

Sherlock didn't answer. He just began playing again. 

"Sherlock" she called him from her spot in the kitchen, "Sherlock!" 

He didn't turn around, nor stopped playing, "What did Mycroft want?" He asked again making her sigh. 

"I don't- Why are you both so... I don't even want to know what happened between the two of you" she took the vinegar bottle out of the bag and slammed it against the table. 

Sherlock chuckled darkly, "Of course you don't"

"He sends his greetings, by the way" she said before letting go of the bottle and sitting on a chair to untie her boots.

She only got a louder and more violent melody as an answer. The whisky was still in the bag, she got up in just her socks and got two glasses from the cupboard in the right corner of the kitchen, right over the full sink. 

With the glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other she padded across the room and sat on the coffee table. Placed both glasses beside her thigh and opened the bottle before pouring the amber liquid in equal proportions. 

Sherlock didn't look at her, but she knew he could see her from the corner of his eye.

"Sit with me?" She proposed taking one of the glasses and offering it in the detective's direction. 

Sherlock stopped playing, and still looking out of the window, with the same impassive look on his face he said, "If he thinks sending you is going to convince me-" 

"Shut the fuck up, will you?" She said with a harsh tone, it didn't disturb her features, though, "Not everything is about you, Sherlock. And please allow me to remind you I was friends with Mycroft even before I met you. And that I haven't seen him in fifteen years! So, it’s not like we could be talking about something that is not his stupid self-centred brother" she had her jaw set and her grip on the glass was tight enough for it to be visible from where Sherlock was standing. 

He stared at her, the violin and bow both down at the end of his limp arms. His icy eyes were focused and his lips made their way into a frown but were stopped midway and he remained expressionless. 

She rolled her eyes, "As you wish" she said before downing the liquor in one go. 

"You don't need to lie. I know" Sherlock said to her from his place in front of the window, he was looking at her but his feet seemed glued to the floor. 

"Lie? About what?" She said confused, her brow furrowed as she served another glass. 

"About not seeing Mycroft. I know you..." Sherlock didn't have to say it. She understood and well, seemed to be physically unable to say it. "As you said," he continued, "You have been friends for a very long time and the fact that you wanted me away didn't imply Mycroft and you couldn't frequent each other" 

She shook her head slowly, staring at the two, once again, full glasses. "We didn't. I left. I needed space and he respected that" 

"You didn't have to leave" the detective started but she interrupted him with a look that screamed murder, "You didn't have to become a drug addict but that didn't stop any of us, did it?" 

They stared at each other fiercely, like they were having a telepathic fight. Which they were. Neither of them had never needed much more than to look into the other's eyes to communicate. It was a beautiful connection that resulted terrifying in moments like this. 

The tension in the room was so thick it reminded Sherlock of that time Moriarty showed up in the flat. His gut twisted at the thought. Comparing Persephone to Jim Moriarty, how dare he. Moriarty was his worst nightmare, not that he had admitted it to anyone, and she was the opposite... She was a dream come true. 

Since the moment he laid eyes on her all those years in the past he knew she was one of her kind. One of his kind. Her eyes shone with an intelligence he found unusual and yet familiar, just from Mycroft and himself, but it was different, kinder, warmer. She talked with a foreign accent barely perceptible in the way her lips curved around the words, as they learned later, the United Kingdom was far from her hometown. She had a permanent smile on her face as she talked to the clients on her grandma's bookstore, but Sherlock could see how she analysed every costumer as she helped them through.  

He remembers clearly, the memories tucked carefully into the fifth floor of his mind palace, third door to the right.

_Sherlock was in his father’s studio alone. The sun was setting as he saw the orange melt with the horizon through the window that occupied the place of half of the wall._

_Father was in India at the moment, and Mummy had gone out with her friends to some retired and unnecessarily expensive club where they could gossip about those who couldn’t attend. Sherlock knew, he had been dragged there a couple of times when he was younger and picked up plenty of information when they thought he was not listening, but he always was. He always listened._

_Mycroft had been home for a couple of weeks now, but he had gone out to distract himself, he had said, Sherlock thought he might just wanted to do some work being addicted to his job as he was._

_Sherlock finished the piece he was playing, only to play another one right after the final note, a song for the sun on his way to disappearing for the day._

_Eventually Mummy came back, and so did Mycroft with seven minutes of difference. His mother called for him to have dinner and he left the violin and bow on top of the bookshelf beside the window. He made his way to the dining room and kissed his mother’s cheek._

_As they ate, Mummy asked Mycroft about his day out._

_“I found a rather lovely bookshop downtown. They’re a kind of a speciality bookstore, very um… cosy” Mycroft said as he used the knife and fork to cut his steak._

_“Speciality?” Mummy asked interested as Sherlock followed the conversation with eyes and ears._

_Mycroft nodded, “Unusual editions, a great variety of languages and genres”, mummy nodded interested, “Lovely personal, as well. They know their business perfectly”._

_Mummy hummed, “Lovely personal, huh? Did it happen to be anyone particularly lovely?” she teased her older son making Sherlock mirror her smirk._

_Mycroft gave his mother a glacial glare, before looking down to his mashed potatoes, “There was, actually. A young lady”, Mummy squealed quietly, Mycroft looked up at Sherlock, “I think Sherlock would like her, actually” their mother now looked at the younger one._

_Sherlock frowned, “and why would that be?” Mycroft took another bite, chewed slowly and then swallowed, “I think you might find her interesting. She is your age” the younger brother scoffed._

_“Tell me, brother dear. When have I found someone my age interesting? How can we be sure there even is someone my age interesting” he said in a monotone voice._

_Mycroft smirked, “I think you’ll have to go and find out yourself, then”_

_“I won’t waste my time like that” he said before his attention went back to his food._

_The conversation carried on, about how Mrs. Holmes hoped she could find the three volume edition of “ _Sense and Sensibility” she had been looking for.__

_Weeks passed, and one day, after he was freed from the tedious week he had to spend at school surrounded by those brainless creatures they prided themselves on being called homo sapiens. Mummy’s birthday was approaching and after making sure Mycroft was buying her some jewellery he opted to go looking for that bookstore his brother mentioned with a mental list of books their mother had been wanting or would enjoy._

_With his leather messenger bag on his shoulder and scarf tied carelessly around his neck he reached into his memory for those snippets of the conversation Mycroft held with mummy that day. He gave directions to her and Sherlock was going to put them on use._

_The shop was between a pastry shop that made the air thick with sweetness in a ratio of twenty meters and a tailoring shop. At the bottom of a small building of two floors, terra cotta walls with forest green details and big windows that projected the inside of the shop into the street. It didn’t seem so special. There were at least ten persons in sight and from what Sherlock could see all of them were holding books that had nothing special in them._

_Crossing the door he heard a bell ring on top of his head. He stood with the front desk to his left, no one there to attend it but it wasn’t in any way empty, full of bookmarks, vases full of pens that were not made to hold them, a flowers pattern painted on the table top that covered it and in a corner a cash register the same colour as the details outside._

_“Coming!!” a voice from the back of the shop called and then a door opened to reveal a girl with her charcoal black hair tied high in a ponytail, a doughnut in her hand and a tiny trail of sugar grains in the corner of her mouth. She placed the last piece of the doughnut in her mouth and chewed fast as she cleaned her hand on her jeans._

_Sherlock could see her bellybutton from where her t-shirt ended right before it and a quartz pendant rested in the hollow of her throat._

_“Hello!” she smiled widely at him, “I’m Persephone, what can I help you with?” she asked with an animated tone._

_“I’m looking for a three volume “Sense and sensibility by- ” Sherlock began._

_“Jane Austen. We don’t have first edition, I’m afraid. But if you’re not looking for that one specifically a couple of years ago a tribute edition was made by…” she stopped her rambling and chuckled, “That’s not important, is it? Anyway, three volume, classic but **not** first edition, it is very good, though. Board bindings like the one from 1811 and the whole thing.” _

_Sherlock stared at her, “I would like to see it” he stated and she nodded coming to the front of the desk and in the direction of the bookshelves._

_“Follow me, Mister Holmes” she said and made her way to the other side of the shop the books flanking her as she moved swiftly between costumers._

_Sherlock didn’t move. Mister Holmes?_

_“Mister Holmes?” She called, a couple of seconds after that she was walking back with three books in her hands. She chuckled, “You didn’t follow” she said and place the books beside the register and took her place behind the desk once again._

_“How did you know my name?” he asked dryly with his eyes wary. She smiled to herself and took a seat in a stool behind the desk._

_“I do not know your name. I know your last name. Your brother has been here a couple of times” she told him matter of factly, then her eyes opened wide, “I’m sorry” she said as her cheeks became pink._

_“Did he tell you about me?” Sherlock asked, he had to. She shook her head as she looked at the books and caressed the cover of the one that was on top. “how did you know?”_

_She looked into his eyes, weighting her options Sherlock thought. “I… the accent, your accent is the same. At first I thought you might have attended the same posh school, you know?”  she nodded in the direction of Sherlock’s school emblem embroidered to his blazer. The blush was reddening, “but… but you stand the same way, like, the posture is the same, and your hands and the shape of your eyes… they’re the same too so…brothers” she looked at the books again._

_Sherlock stared at her, didn’t say anything, didn’t move either. This was what Mycroft was talking about._

_“I apologise” she said, “I can bring someone else to attend you if I made you feel uncomfortable”_

_“He was right. You are quite interesting” Sherlock said._

“I’m sorry I said that” she said with a sigh. “Let’s just stop, okay?” she was playing with the glass she had drank from before. “Give me a kiss?” she pleaded with a sweet voice.

Sherlock finally let go of the violin, he placed it on it’s place beside the window and sat on Phonny’s left side and placed his arm around her shoulders pulling her in and kissing the top of his head. She giggled and looked up, kissing his jaw.

“You know that’s not what I meant” she said still looking up at him. Their eyes met and Sherlock smiled at her, “I do know”.

She placed her hand gently on the detective’s neck, played with the rebel curl that always rested there; he let his arm fall to her waist and squeezed his hand. Their lips joined in a gentle touch and moved in a sweet waltz. Just lips, a chaste caress that ended soon.

“Main tumse pyar karthee hoon” she said before kissing his cheek and resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.

“Ich liebe dich” he told her and rested his cheek on top of her head.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think :D  
> Would you like to know more from their past? Let's say, do you want another flower? (wink wink)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets answers to questions. He was not ready for them... Most of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! Sorry for the delay. I hope you like this :D Next chapter might be focused on young PJ and Sherlock. What do you think about that?

“So… What do you do in your free time?” John asked Persephone as they both waited for Sherlock to return from God knows where.

“Uh…” she looked at him over her glasses. As John learned over the past couple of months she preferred contacts but wore glasses at home. “Not much really” she said and looked down at her book again. The title said something in Russian? John wasn’t completely sure, he didn’t know what it said either.

John hummed, “Mary and I learned to bake together so… we bake” he said with a small smile. This was getting a bit uncomfortable.

They had been together before, they have talked for hours before. But not today. John wanted to believe it was because she had had a hard day at work or… well, hormonal cycles.

She looked at him again. Looked down at the page for half a second (checking the page number) and closed it before putting it on the side. She fixed her glasses.

“Do you… you are aware Sherlock doesn’t have _normal_ hobbies, right?” it sounded like a statement but somehow it still was an open question.

“I do” he chuckled, “One time I was sitting in this very chair when he walked through the door covered in blood with a harpoon in hand” he shook his head and joined PJ in her laugh.

“I’d say I don’t even want to know but… I really do.” She said with a smile still present on her lips.

Sherlock came, eventually. Ruffled hair and a great story. Later that night, when they were having a glass of wine after dinner, Watson saw the way Sherlock moved his left arm stiffly. Persephone followed his line of sight and pursed her lips with her left eyebrow lifted in question. Sherlock saw that and ignored her deliberately, she didn’t say anything and John didn’t ask either.

The thing is, John was certain they had to have something to do as a couple, in their free time. Everyone did. In any kind of relationship. People had things to do with one another in their free time. And Sherlock was no exception, he was sure of that.

When they lived together, AS FRIENDS (he was sure to assure anyone that ever asked or implied something else), they sat down and read through the newspapers. They commented the news that might be interesting for Sherlock as a detective, but they also enjoyed reading those who seemed completely ridiculous. They liked to comment on them. They even invented the end of the stories that didn’t seem to have closure (poor journalistic skills, Sherlock said).

So yeah, that was their thing. And John _knew_ PJ and Sherlock had their thing as well.

Greg believed they had to have their thing as well, a small victory for Watson (it made him grin like a loon), and together, at the bar, they speculated.

“Book club?”

“Nah. Sherlock has no verbal filter nor patience. He would sit and read the whole thing in a couple of hours and then spoil it to everyone”

“If they find a book to interest him enough”. They giggled like kids. Maybe it was the beer.

They just made the thing bigger, and soon enough Mary and Mycroft were involved as well.

"What do you think?" Greg prompted to Mycroft as they sipped of their breakfast drinks.

Mycroft looked up from the newspaper he had in his lefthand, the right one holding his cup of tea. He shrugged, "I think you're putting too much thought in this" he said and went back to his reading.

 "C'mon! I mean, you have to know something. You've seen them interact the most. What did they used to do when younger?" Gregory seemed annoyingly excited by this.  Even though Mycroft thought this was unfruitful and even stupid at some rate, he couldn't help but smile at his partner's childish interest over something as simple as this. This is how gossip is so attractive to people, he figured. He just found that the twinkle in the detective's eyes made him feel warm.

 "You're a lost cause, Gregory." He said before folding the paper and placing it on the table, he sighed and Greg grinned "They used to sit side by side for hours"

 "And..." Greg was actually enjoying this. He shook his head. He was surprised Greg wasn't taking notes to report Dr. Watson.

 "Nothing much" he added some more tea to his nearly empty cup, " Actually nothing at all. They just sat together"

 Lestrade stared at him, "Just that?" He was really confused.

 "Yes" he finished and took another biscuit. "It is the only thing I can think of, as you describe, ' their thing'".

 To say that Greg Lestrade was disappoited was an understatement. John was even more upset, he swore Mycroft was lying.

 As their last resource they went asked the only person left to ask. Mrs Hudson.

 "Oh, I don't know, dears" she said as the doctor and the detective inspector sat in her kitchen, "They're pretty quiet. But..." She looked at the wall as she thought,"I guess you could say they dance"

Both man looked at each other, "Dance?" He asked in unison

"Yes. Sometimes there's music and steps at night" she said with a fond smile on her face

 They accepted that as an answer. An answer that made them see Sherlock a little bit more human than before. Sweet simple romance for the younger Holmes.

Of course, this was not that simple. Sherlock Holmes is never simple.

**I think Sherlock has a broken rib. Can you come over? –PJ**

John received the text at half past seven at night. He was about to go home from the clinic when it arrived and he sighed. He called Mary to let her know and then took a cab to Baker Street

To his arrival he opened the door without knocking. There was no point for that really.

He made his way up the stairs and found Sherlock laying on the couch with his eyes closed and face severely bruised.

“What happened to you?” he asked as he approached him and begun inspecting the cut on his lip.

“Would you like something to drink, Doctor?” Persephone asked from the kitchen and he answered with a “yes please” without even looking at her.

Sherlock let himself be checked. A long time ago he learned that, if he was stubborn, the doctor was even more so when it had to do with a patient. In his case he was the patient more often than not.

“I’m fine” Sherlock said and tried to prove his point sitting up. Bad idea. He grunted and hissed before falling back down onto the cushions. “You were right.” He said and looked past Watson’s shoulder, “It might be broken”.

John smiled. Was Sherlock admitting someone else being right ? “Take off your shirt. Can you do that?” Sherlock nodded and sat cautiously.

He helped the detective to remove his shirt and whistled when he say his torso covered in fist shaped bruises. “Sherlock! What the hell?”

“Damn. I forgot how easily you bruise” came a voice from behind Watson. She forgot? What exactly…?

He turned around and finally saw Persephone. She had a cut in her lip similar to Sherlock's and a dark bruise on her cheekbone under her left eye. “Jesus Christ” he muttered.

She smiled at him and offered a steaming cup, “Be careful” she said as he took it from her hands. Her bandaged hands.

“What happened to you two?” he asked as he stood up after leaving the mug on the floor, gently touching her face.

“We uh…” she was interrupted by hissing as he was padding gently over the bruise.

“We won” Sherlock said from behind him.

“You won what, exactly?” he asked annoyed. He even blinked repeatedly as he did every time something confused him and bothered him, Phonny noted.

“About… three thousand pounds I think” she stated. The doctor looked at her.

“Doing what?!”

“Bets and street fighting” Sherlock said and Watson closed his eyes pinching the bridge of his nose, where, he realised, Sherlock was bruising too.

“Bloody hell” he muttered again.

Maybe it would have been better to not know this. Ignorance is bliss, they say.

I turns out Persephone and Sherlock did a lot of stuff together. And just as he thought in the beginning, Sherlock got bored easily even with Persephone. Fortunately, she understood him perfectly.

Their thing was not just one thing, John learned. It was a bunch of things, about twenty three different things were their thing.

And attending to illegal underground fights were one of them. As well as dancing (to ease of his weak heart), and getting into buildings without the need of an ID just to go to the rooftops and sit there, side by side, as Mycroft mentioned.

Doctor Watson found that he might need to stop asking questions or, perhaps, ask them more frequently.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary is gone. John is too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who is back!  
> I apologise, my dear readers. This has been by far the hardest year of my life. I always kept this story in the back of my head but I honestly was not in the right state of mind to continue writing. I would like to think I am now.  
> I am also editing so the chapter have more... life, let's say.  
> (Like... Le estoy poniendo más crema a mis tacos, you know?. Probably not, it is a saying around here :))  
> Thank you again for reading.

Persephone couldn’t quite remember the last time she saw Sherlock like this.

It had been a hectic year and it seemed like the only bright thing about it was the opportunity to see little Watson grow.

From the moment Mary had to escape everything, it seemed, had fallen apart. Even John and Sherlock’s friendship.

A few months after she left, Mary was found dead. As Mycroft had informed them it was not a violent death. She had been shot in her sleep, apparently. This, at least, gave Watson a little peace, but it was not enough. He retired into himself and to take care of his daughter. No more cases, he said, but it seemed as if it meant no more Sherlock.

It was very rare the occasion they would talk on the phone, even via text, and it was even rarer the occasion on which they would meet.

Sherlock didn’t want to bother him, he understood he was mourning and thought that he was being foolish. Persephone knew he was hurting too, he thought he had lost him. Sherlock also blamed himself for Mary’s death, he had vowed to protect them and had failed, sometimes she wondered if John distancing himself had something to do with this broken vow.

One day, as she came back to Baker Street, she found Sherlock laying on the couch in fetal position facing the wall. This was not an estrange sight, but she found an empty box of nicotine patches in the trash bin.

“How many do you have on?” she asked from the kitchen where she was brewing tea. The detective did not answer.

He had his brow furrowed and his arms hugging his middle, he was breathing harshly. “Sherlock?!” the detective snapped his eyes open only to shut them an instant after groaning.

She called an ambulance. Turns out he had been using 6 patches at the same time. The only thing she wondered was, how could he be so intelligent and yet not take the patches off, at least some of them, when he started feeling bad. But that was it, perhaps he did know what was happening, and perhaps there was only one doctor he wanted to call.

When he woke up she was sitting beside him, and they looked into each other’s eyes. Phony did not ask why and Sherlock knew that she understood and would not dig for information.

She kissed his knuckles, “you are an idiot” she said still holding his hand between both of hers. He gave her half a smile “I know” he muttered and then started to cough.

His throat burned terribly and before he knew it she was holding a cup against his lips.

She caressed his curls tenderly, she even sat on the edge of the hospital bed and let him rest his hand on her thigh as she held it in hers.

Gregory was there to visit along with Mycroft. They went in together and a few minutes later the detected inspector came out to sit with Persephone. “Did you reach John?” she asked and he looked surprised at her. “You thought I would not call him, didn’t you?” she was thumbing the outside of her paper cup, the coffee still hot.

He nodded and looked away, “I thought maybe Sherlock wouldn’t want him to see him like this” he said, “But… I think it might be good for him. John has always been good for him”.

She nodded and took a sip, “he has. He is in Ireland, you know? He and little Watson went to visit his sister. They’ve been staying there for the past two weeks”.

It was his time to nod silently, “It always goes to voicemail” he stated, “I know…” she said.

A couple of days after that Sherlock was discharged and sent home, she went into the kitchen to make tea and felt his arms close around her middle as she tried to reach for the mugs on the top shelf.

“I am sorry” he said against her clothed shoulder, “Please, do not leave” he added, _Not you too_ he completed in his head. It was so quietly, she knew he was trying to keep his voice from breaking.

She took the mugs down and placed them on the counter before turning around and hugging Sherlock back, “I won’t” it was simple, but it was a promise. 

He fell asleep shortly after his cup of tea. She made him go to bed and left the door open. “I’m not a child, you know?” he had argued as he covered himself with the bedsheets. She grinned, “Really? Could have fooled me” he smiled at her with his eyes already closed.

Persephone occupied herself in reading the newspaper they bought on their way back, it had been roughly half an hour when the door opened and furious but familiar steps were heard going up the stairs.

“Where is he?” Dr. John Watson slammed the door open. She looked up from the paper with an arched eyebrow.

“Yes, hello. Good evening, doctor” she said in a sarcastic tone.

He stared at her, his nostrils flaring, his face red and his chest moved with the intensity of his breathing. She went back to reading and John did not move, he just stared at her.

“Where is Sherlock?” he asked and when Persephone looked up she noted the change in his voice matched his physical appearance, much calmer now.

“He is taking a nap” she said, “Where is little Watson?”, however John was not paying attention to her, it seemed, he’s face turning to the bedrooms direction. His eyebrows were knit together.

“Doctor?” he snapped back to reality, “Tea?” he opened his mouth but said nothing. She sighed. “Why don’t you sit down here with me, we can wait for-“

“I’m here” Sherlock was now standing right outside the kitchen, “Good evening, John” he said and rubbed his eyes.

Persephone saw clearly how the colour in the doctor’s face changed in matter of seconds before he began, “YOU BLOODY IDIOT! THE HELL WHERE YOU THINKING?” Phonny got up, “John” she called to deaf ears.

“ARE YOU DAFT? I KNWE YOU _LIKE DANGER_ ” he mocked, “BUT THIS IS RICULOUS” .

“John” she called again, stepping closer. “YOU MAD MAN. COMMITING FAKE SUICIDE WAS NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU, HUH?! YOU HAD TO FUCKING GO AND KILL YOURSELF THIS TIME”

 _Oh bugger._ She thought as something broke inside Sherlock, she saw it through his eyes. He did not move. He did not speak. He thought he deserved that.

“STOP!” she exclaimed and finally John looked at her. “Did you come here to shout, doctor? If that is so I would advise you to leave” she snapped at him.

Sherlock just stood there, looking back and forth between them. Dr. Watson took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. He looked into Sherlock’s eyes, “Sherlock, I’m so sorry. Greg called me and told me you were at the hospital and I tried to come back as soon as possible. I should have been here” he said.

Sherlock said nothing, and just looked at Phony with pleading eyes. She understood and went to get her phone from the desk and went out the door without looking at John again.

“How is little Watson?” Sherlock asked to fill the silence that reigned after Persephone left. Johns eyes filled with tears, “She is fine, growing up so fast” his voice strained.

The moment Sherlock had his arms around him Watson couldn’t stop the sobs from tearing his chest. The detective just held him as a tear fell silently from his closed eyes.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is beautiful, Dr. Watson remembers that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who gave herself feels while writting this. Yup. Me. Also, sorry for the delay, medschool kicked my ass this semester, like really really hard. I landed some punches as well tho.  
> I'm starting third year on July 10th and it's terrifying. Buuut! this one is supposed to be an "easy" semester sooooo hopefully more fanfic writing will be going on! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

_"She kissed me" young Sherlock said looking out the window of his bedroom._  
 _Mycroft stared at him from where he leaned against the wardrobe, analysing._  
 _"Where?" he asked, just to make sure where this was going._  
 _"Lips" Sherlock said as he fiddled with his violin's chords, mindlessly._  
 _"What happened then?" the older Holmes was so out of his element that he couldn't remember the last time he knew so little about a subject and felt so lost in a situation._  
 _"I... Kissed back" Mycroft could hear the small smile in his voice but his eyes looked so full of concern, uncertainty and wonder._   
—

After the last case was over Sherlock slept for 14 hours straight. Phonny shared the bed with him for half that time but continued with her daily chores as silently as she was able to.   
Little Watson seemed to be still unaware of the human body need for rest as she often cried in the middle of the night so loudly she could be heard downstairs. Good thing everyone but her father were very heavy sleepers and were used to loud noise, even Mrs. Hudson.   
As John had gone back to his old house to get some of the last stuff packed, Persephone was left on nanny duty.

  
It was nice for John knowing so many of his friends were trustworthy enough to take care of Rosie, as they were happy to do so. Even Persephone, who he hadn't known for as long as the others. After the war he had been very lonely, after he met Sherlock a bunch of new people were introduced in his life at the same time, it was amazing all of them had become such close friends; he thanked the detective every day for giving him the family he didn't know he was looking for... He wondered if Sherlock knew this. He hoped Sherlock knew this.   
Phony had to use the restroom so she closed the door and left little Watson with her toys sitting on the floor.

  
Little Watson, however, didn’t think this was very entertaining. As soon as she heard the bathroom door closing she got up and walked to uncle Sherlock’s room. The door was open and her small feet took her to the side of the bed where the detective’s hand was hanging off. She took a couple of his fingers and shook them gently. Sherlock opened his eyes and moved to look down.

  
“Hey, my dear Watson” he said sleepily. The baby just smiled and he smiled back, “Come here” he said and took her in his arms before laying back down on the bed, “Now… guessing your father isn’t home by you being here alone. Where is Persephone, huh? Are you trying to scare her?” Rosie just giggled and nuzzled her cheek against Sherlock’s shirt, “You are, little menace!” he chuckled.

  
“I knew you were working together” hissed Persephone from the door. She came closer and the little girl tried to hide further into his godfather’s chest, giggling. Phony kissed his head, “Fine then. I’ll just have to eat all that icecream by myself.

  
Even then, Rosie just looked up for a brief moment, considering, but went back to hide. “Damn you’re good” she said to Sherlock who grinned, “I am the best, Phonny dear”

  
She closed the door after her and went to put some tea, after a few minutes she went back to ask Sherlock if he would like to have brunch with her but the detective and the baby were sleeping soundly in each other’s arms. As she closed the door as silently as possible she hear steps up the stairs and hurried to stop Dr. Watson from doing any noise.

  
“Shh…” she went as a greeting, John’s eyebrows formed a confused frown, “They’re sleeping”. John nodded and smiled, “How did you get them to sleep?” she gave him a grin, “me? They teamed up against me! Before we know it she’ll be part of his underground network.” John laughed, “Oh dear! We better prepare for that”. Persephone went back into the kitchen and poured the boiling water into a mug, “Tea, John?” he nodded and went to the table putting the bag he carried in his hands on top of it.

  
“Did you get everything you wanted?” she asked as she handed him a cup and both took a seat next to each other, “Yeah. The boxes are downstairs.” He sighed, and stared deeply at his tea, “I thought it would be harder… to move in here completely. After everything that happened, I thought-“ he closed his eyes and exhaled though his nose, “I thought maybe Sherlock and I wouldn’t be friends again… ever again” he sighed once again and looked at Persephone. “Thank you for taking care of him when I was away and… being an asshole. Also, thank you for being my friend, even though I’ve been an asshole for longer than not since we met”.

  
She grinned, “You know, for a father you say bad words way to much,” this made him laugh lightening the mood, “But, for real” she placed her hand over his and squeezed gently, “that’s what friends are for, John. We stick together even when life insist in making us assholes”.

  
After finishing their tea PJ took John to look at Sherlock and Rosy, he took a picture with his phone before letting them alone again. They made sure to enjoy the silence together and as John sat on his chair and Persephone sat in front of him in Sherlock’s he thanked heaven for giving him a second chance after the war, for putting such marvellous people in his life and he thanked Mary, for taking care of them from wherever she was.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mind palace has multiple uses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who isn't dead?  
> Me. 
> 
> Don't go to medschool, kids. It's a trap.

Sherlock Holmes, one of the geniuses of his generation, also dreams when his body is finally allowed to sleep. Sometimes, though, he is able to go to his mind palace and choose a memory or two to build his dreams around.

Not that he has discussed this with anyone. For as much as he likes to brag about his mental capabilities, this, he thinks, could be considered a heavily emotional activity. He can´t allow anyone to know.

 

_“We never interacted with another children until we got into school” Young Sherlock commented casually as they enjoyed their chips looking at the peaceful lake in front of them._

_“I did. Kind of the opposite, you know? Because of the home-schooling. But as my grandmother had lots of friends with grandchildren I saw kids often in the ‘parties’ they hosted. I guess my company was a very exclusive circle, one I didn’t have to select”, Persephone smiled and took another bite, “I don’t know how we got along so well. All of us. I guess it was because we didn’t have to interact with eachother for more than four to five hours each time”_

_Sherlock snorted and took a sip from his cold drink, “It was probably that”. She laughed brightly and then a little bit louder. Sherlock grinned._

 

 _“Sherlock” Phonny called his name making him look up from his book. They were sitting in a table at the back of the bookshop._ The smell was so particular, to the date he hadn’t found- no. Stop thinking. _They were reading together. He wasn’t accustomed to read with company but apparently she was and enjoyed it very much. She was quiet most of the time and liked to play footsie under the table while the read. He grew fond of that. Sometimes, Mrs. Jones would bring them tea and biscuits and that is something Sherlock would never turn down._

_“Sherlock, I have a question” she said and he merely arched his eyebrow, she continued, “how many languages do your parents speak?”_

_“Fluently? Father knows French and Gaelic, Mother does know French too, but that’s about it, she prefers numbers.” He answered simply. She nodded pensive. “What about you, Phonny?”_

_She connected their gazes again, “little bit of this, little bit of that” this made Sherlock smile, she knew how to be modest, not that she wasn’t proud, she was just not as cocky as he was._

 

 

_“I think you should try one” Persephone said as she looked at the skirts behind the window of the shop._

_"Why would I put on a skirt?" he inquired in a neutral tone and she squeezed her arm grinning. "It might compliment your complexion" He narrowed his eyes, "Do stop with your nonsense, please" her grin turned into something malicious and he rolled his eyes before pulling her along and away from those hideous floral skirts._

To be fair, Sherlock had to use a skirt for a couple of costumes for cases.

_She was squeezing his hand so hard he had started to lose feeling on his fingers. Her face was stoic but Sherlock saw her breathing becoming forcefully deep._

_“Afraid of heights?” he asked quietly, she shook her head. “I just feel as if the ocean wanted to pull us into it” her voice barely above a whisper._

_It was her first time in Scotland, the Holmes had taken her with them in their vacation trip. “It’s called gravity, Phonny dear”. She closed her eyes and smiled, “Shut up, Sherlock”._

_They stood there for a while, a few meters away from the verge of the cliff. The sound of the waves breaking against the hard rocks into the salty breeze that hit their faces and cleared their noses._

He wondered if Phonny had gone to Siccar point, they hadn’t been able to go that time, too much of a detour. Sherlock made a mental note to ask her when he woke up. “The exact point that changed the perception of time in the Earth as they knew it”, she had said excitedly as they discussed the marvels Scotland had to offer.

To ask her when he woke up… perhaps it was time. For how long had he slept?

 

He opened his eyes, the room was dark. He was alone in the bed, Persephone hadn’t been there in a while, the bed was cold and she was always so damn warm. He put on his robe and sleepers, the weather had been exceptionally cold and he was not adept of freezing his toes thank you very much.

He made his way through the hall, the living room light filtered under the kitchen door and there was no sound accompanying it.  

Sherlock found Persephone sitting on the floor in front of her computer with a bowl of pasta in her hands, watching some show about food she had been enjoying lately. Not at 3 in the morning, though.

“Did I wake you?” she said through a mouthful of food making him wrinkle his nose in disgust, “Royal manners” he stated and she shrugged her shoulders before apologizing.

He sat beside her, his knees bent and his arms resting atop. “What is he eating?” he asked at the same time he took the bowl and fork from her hands to take a bite. “Shark’s eggs” was the answer as the buttery taste filled Sherlock’s mouth, he hummed at both.

They watched the episode to the end as they shared Phonny’s late night snack. As the credits rolled the detective used that opportunity to ask, “Have you been to Siccar’s point?” with bright eyes she smiled at him, “Yeah… wanna go?”.

“If we start packing now we could take the train that parts at five and stay for a couple of days” he said as he made his way back to the kitchen leaving the empty bowl in the sink.

“Sherlock Holmes, the man with a plan” she laughed and followed him to their room.

 

_Scotland, the game is on._

 

 


End file.
